—————————————

Hello Obvious Lawyer readers – I believe I am the first guest blogger here, and I am honored to speak to all of you.  Fareesh tells me that there are only 3 or 4 readers, so I feel like we are friends already.  So why am I here?  Fareesh and I have been friends for a while (dated VERY briefly), and I was complaining about being single on one of our catch-up phonecalls.  (I am a single brown early 30ish woman in Canada!) He convinced me to change my game up and think about dating differently.  He told me to put my consultant hat on and pretend like I was giving dating advice to myself – what would I tell myself?  I took his advice to heart, and started trying different things and came up with this paradigm-shift in the way I think. 

I am posting on “The Obvious Lawyer” because I am refining my thought process for a possible magazine article and Fareesh begged me to preview it here.  I am working different ideas into my dating strategies and some have worked better than others, but I would love to hear what other women think of my ideas.  Feel free to comment good or bad and I hope to come back with part 2 of my dating strategy and some updated results.  I call it “Manhunt”, so good luck and happy hunting!

1.     Treat the Manhunt like a job.  I know this sounds incredibly unromantic, but there is plenty of time for romance – once you get the man!  Those of us who are successful career-minded women didn’t get there by floating around and “hoping” the perfect job would find us.  We polish resumes, we network, we dress to impress, we make great first impressions, we actively jobhunt.  In other words – we go get what we want. 

When it comes to meeting men though, we suddenly assume these passive roles that we think we are relegated to.  We nest with our single female friends, we go to the bars, we sit around sipping our Cosmos and getting more and more frustrated.  Frustrated because the right guys aren’t even at the bar, and if they are, they aren’t approaching us. 

I decided to change that.  Being in my early 30s and single was not the way I imagined my life unfolding, and scarier still was I didn’t see an end in sight.  I looked out at what was happening in my life, and I was scared that I was relying on blind luck to get married.  I knew women who were 40, single and miserable, and I knew an equal number of women who squeaked across the marriage line with men that weren’t anywhere near the caliber they desired or deserved.  I am taking an active approach and mindset not to be one of those women because I am changing my approach.  I am going to find my man and make him fall in love with me. 

Part one of the plan was to widen the possible dating pool.  Right now I am swimming in a pond of single men surrounded by many other single women.  I need to be swimming in an ocean! 

Creating the Ocean

2.     Take a leadership role in an organization or social service group that doesn’t focus on alcohol.  I was one of the people who already thought I was doing this because I went to a few fundraisers and was part of cooking club.  It dawned on me that the fundraisers were just another night out at the bar where we just spent more money on our drinks.  I wasn’t really meeting new people.  Most of the things I was doing was decidedly female and territorial, so it wasn’t working really working towards this goal either. 

So I decided to do something completely different from what I normally did, and with no safety net.  There are a ton of desi-minded organizations in Canada that cater to the politically-minded, socially conscious, medically interested, and artistic desi in all of us.  I don’t know what organizations are out there for single women in the states, but a quick google search reveals SAALT, DRUM, Salaam theatre, South Asian Artists Collective, SAMAR which are similar groups and cater to desis of all interests.  I know women, including myself have broader interests, but I wasn’t meeting a lot of single Indian men in my soccer league.  So that activity was great and I love it, but it wasn’t part of my Manhunt.

I also decided it isn’t good enough to be a fly on the wall at these organizations.  If I was going to meet someone, I had to be at the top of the foodchain so others would have to get to know me, and it would make networking more structured and mandatory.  I could organize events, be in charge or membership, strategy – something.  Insert myself into a small nucleus of people who I would otherwise never meet, and from those people I would spirulate my way outwards and meet other people.  This wasn’t necessarily how I dreamt of spending some of the precious hours I had off, but my Manhunt was important enough to my life goals that I decided to bite the bullet and do it.  I have increased the number of men in my dating ocean by dozens and dozens, and most of these men are not men I may ultimately date, but through them I will meet other like-minded folks.  Besides, I don’t need to date dozens and dozens of men.  If a few of these men turn out to be normal non-neanderthal guys, then this phase of the plan has succeeded.  Sitting at home on my couch for the 10 hours per month this endeavor took would have done nothing to expand my ocean.  Plus as an added bonus I was joining organizations I was interested in, so it was a good mental stimulus.

3.     Use Facebook/Myspace for what God created it for!  I have 300 facebook friends.  Guys I have met once.  Guys I have dated once.  Girls who have great single guy friends.  Girls who add every guy they go out for one drink with.  Married people who are always looking to bring another into their club of misery.  I have a veritable dating ocean right there every time I turn on my computer…and what have I done to take advantage of it?  Nothing. 

So I changed up the game a little bit.  I talked to 5 or 6 of my most trusted male and female friends and enlisted them in doing my bidding.  I clicked around on my friends’ pages and came up with a list of guys I thought would be good guys to get to know.  They were cute, we shared the same interests, we had similar friends, all of the above, some of the above.  I created a pretty big list initially.  There were more men on my list then I could get to know, so I did a first cut and asked my friends to create an intro for me with my top 2-3 guys each.  I figured this would expand my ocean by 15 guys instantly – guys who are pretty vetted, normal, hopefully in a good enough spot in life to get to know somebody great and witty like me!  I ran this by a bunch of my guy friends and they thought similarly to me – they were open to meeting the right person, just not too fussed about initiating the process.

So I had friends I trusted and who were supporting me put together a quick personalized paragraph to the guy suggesting he get to know me.  Now, obviously this required me to put myself out there and tell people I was single and looking.  I know it sounds desperate but girl, you ain’t foolin’ nobody anyways!  If you are brown and older than 27 and don’t have a rock on your left-hand, the sad reality we face is that everybody assumes you are looking and getting more and more desperate each passing year.  Doesn’t matter if its true or not, it is what brown people are trained to think, so they will think that about you.  Keeping it to yourself isn’t going to change anything, so I decided to stop fighting it, and decided I might as well take advantage of the environment. 

So back to the social networking experiment.  Of course there were a couple of friends who knew I was looking, but I hadn’t enlisted them into the Manhunt army.  They were simply passive bystanders, not active soldiers.  It was time to bring them to the front of the search party.  Even those of you who think you have made it clear to your single friends that you are looking – if they haven’t introduced you to at least 2-3 guys each, they don’t get it.  Time to bring it home to them.  If the guy is initially interested he will take the bait.  If not, time to move on.  It wasn’t like he knew I was the one who put them up to it, and I was shocked at how many guys out there were open to being introduced.  As a footnote though, this made me spruce up my profile a bit to ensure it was a sizzling portrait! (and of course, I had to stop restricting other people access to my profile, but that has not led to a flood of creepy guys trolling my page so that was a success). 

If you are going to go this route though, you cannot take rejection personally.  I know this is difficult, but you have to treat the Manhunt like the jobhunt.  My dad used to tell me when I was looking for that perfect job – some will (like you), some won’t (like you), so what?  I used to have the hardest time with this concept.  Whenever a guy broke up with me, I had to, had to, had to know why?? 

I got an up close and tragically personal lesson in TMI when a guy I really liked broke up with me in college.  I tracked him down until I finally got him to tell me why he broke up with me (yes, sadly, I was one of those girls who sat around wondering why he wouldn’t love me, and I couldn’t be satisfied until I knew – I just had to know…why…after this cautionary tale hopefully you will break that habit).  After cornering this guy, he told me he broke up with me because he thought I wasn’t “goal-oriented” enough for him.  He was a lame jackass who had no idea what he was talking about and now 12 years later I am a successful well-adjusted woman, and he is still bouncing around the Caribbean somewhere trying to sneak into medical school so fuck him, but my point is it was crushing at the time.  I tried to figure out what I could change, and what was wrong with me.  It took me a long time to realize I actually like myself, and I am not the problem.  If a guy doesn’t want to date me, that’s fine, I am moving on.  I don’t care why he won’t date me, I don’t need 100 men to want to marry me.  I am secure enough now not to worry about it.  I am treating rejection from a man the same way I treat rejection from a job – I put myself out there again and move on.

4.     Join dating websites.  I can hear the cringing now.  It took me the longest time to get over this weird insecurity and put a profile up on a couple of dating sites.  Not the typical Indian sites, though I have heard good things about those, but sites that cater to non-Indians too.  I kept having this weird nightmare where I go to this bar, and some guy says, “hey, didn’t I see you on match.com?  And I say coyly, “why yes you did.”  Then he starts laughing and screaming to his friends.  “Dudes I was right.  This is the loser who was on Match.com!”  Then everyone would start pointing and laughing and maybe my hips would expand or something.  I don’t know, but it was stupid and irrational, and I have been on there for 2 months now, and no weird moments!  No “match” yet, but some quality feelers, and a lot more confidence when I see the type of guys out there contacting me. 

But putting myself out on a dating site was similar to actually putting myself out there to my friends.  It made it real for me.  Dr. Phil always says that if you are trying to lose weight or quit smoking or something, you should share your goals with other people so that you have this inherent social pressure to follow through.  You can’t tell all your friends that you want to squeeze into that teeny weenie polka dot bikini by May, then sit around and order dessert when you go out to dinner!  They are going to look at you like you lost your mind.  Same way with the Manhunt.  By telling my friends I was out there looking, it made me more focused and determined.

5.     Say Yes to Dating!  (One of Fareesh’s suggestions that I have adopted).  In other words, never turn down a first date.  Though after grudging negotiations, Fareesh agreed I could have rare exceptions.  Basically he made a good point and once I agreed with his point he pinned me into this stupid logical corner.  I told him I knew if I was going to be attracted to someone within seconds of meeting them, so I wasn’t going to go out with them if I wasn’t attracted to them.  But then he pointed out that we could each name many couples and friends of friends (including himself) who ended up with people they initially didn’t click with.  Obviously a lot of those couples ended up working out, and sometimes it takes a minute to get to know whether you are attracted to someone or not.  If you reject people out of hand you are constricting the ocean, not expanding it (and Fareesh’s point #2 is coming in a second…).

The rare exceptions would be if somebody had a criminal record that you could verify or if he hates his mother.  That’s pretty much it.  Otherwise if somebody asks, I am going to say yes.  If nothing else it is good practice.  I am not a serial dater, and I don’t go out all that much, so it will be nice to get out there, get used to being treated well again, and bask in the flattery.  If it doesn’t click after dinner – I am out.  But I have promised myself I will try this.  I always said I was open to anyone, but that was BS.  It’s all about the Manhunt, and the way I was going about it wasn’t working for me, so might be time to change it up.

6.      “Get over Yourself”.  This is Fareesh’s second point.  Like most single women, I had one list – “must have”.  I had this unrealistic set of criteria that I had to find in a man, and if I didn’t, I wouldn’t settle.  Of course I told myself that I was mature and realistic and I was willing to figure out what I had to have versus what I would like to have, but no….

My list started out Punjabi, tall, professional, makes more money than me, religious, never been married, none of my friends have ever dated him, and on and on, and on…I started to realize that the single guys who are in their 30s and fit this criteria aren’t dating me – they are either dating Priyanka or some 25 year old Indian pop tart perfect 10.  I am not judging, but the game is way different for guys.   So after constantly complaining about my bachelorette-hood to Fareesh he made me rank the things that were really important to me and put values next to them.  I realized I was confusing issues, and completely mis-valuing criteria.

So my list of “Get Over Yourself Ladies”, includes – he is not Tall/Rich/Old enough…if you think this way – well, you know what I am about to say.  I am not judging you – I AM you, or more appropriately, I was you.  Here is what made me change the way I think…

Would I realistically date a tall white guy over a shorter brown guy?  No – but when a short brown guy approached me at the bar I instantly shot him down out of hand.  As F told me bluntly – I am not 25 years old anymore.  At that age the size of my man-funnel (the mechanism by which I brought men from bar to consciousness) could afford to be very narrow.  Now was time to expand the funnel (which is different then expanding the ocean if you are still following!).  Plus, if its good enough for Nicole/Katie, anyone who dates Danny Devito, etc. who am I to be so artificially snobby?  This idea in itself wasn’t depressing – I think I have a lot more to offer a guy then a 25 year old woman.  I just need to get a guy I like to give me the chance to show him.

When it comes to a guy’s age, a lot of my friends wouldn’t date men younger then them.  This I never had a problem with.  The way I look at it, when a guy is 27 or 28, he is pretty close to being the man he is going to be.  Not like I am 20 and he is 15 where he is going to leave me for his Wii.  Besides, a lot of guys who are 27/28 are ready to settle down, but the brown pop tarts he is trying to get with are still playing the field like I was at 24/25, so they aren’t.  Which leads these guys to us.  Ladies, on a day to day basis, nobody is checking your IDs.  Have fun and go for it if he is mature and ready to settle down.  If you still aren’t convinced, send him to me!

Lastly, I was confusing issues when it came to requiring my men to earn more money then me.  What I really want is someone who can engage me in politically and culturally interesting conversations.  I don’t care what he earns, I am a secure woman, but I always equated salary with intelligence.  Fareesh has cleared this up for me many times over!  Everyone has to adjust their own list – for some people ethnicity or specific regions isn’t that important – but after a few glass of wine, I consciously adjusted a few of my criteria.  Tall is really nice and so is the money, but I would sacrifice a few inches and a lot of $$ for a Punjabi. 

My last issue where I would say Get Over Yourself is when it comes to dating guys your girlfriends may have dated (such a touchy subject amongst the sisterhood!)  I am not talking about the guy she almost married, or the one you got to know well as her boyfriend – I am talking about the high quality guys she may have gone on one date with or hooked up with at some point, then moved on.  Women can be so much more incredibly territorial than men that it makes me embarrassed for the better sex.  If our goal is to expand our ocean, then we have to really look at how we act towards and treat one another.  My friends have dated a lot of guys, so if I drop everyone of them that they went on a single date with, my ocean would shrink!  Sometimes I think that we as women don’t want our friends to make a connection with anyone we ever considered because we secretly don’t want them to find happiness before we do.  I know it sounds awful, but if I was being really honest, I would say that was how I felt whenever my girlfriends would ask about a guy I hung out with once.  Obviously this takes a sensitive conversation with friends, but we are all adults and if they were truly your friends they will see how silly this territorialism is.  My guy friends can get over it, and I have convinced myself I can get over it if my girlfriends date a guy I used to date.  I have dated a few winners (not to brag!), and I know they have all moved on to happy relationships, why not with girls I really like?  If some of the winners my friends dated were sent my way, maybe in my next post I will be saying the same about myself!  And yes, I practice what I preach – I went on two dates with a guy and we didn’t click.  Nothing major, just no sparks – but I told him about a friend of mine and I thought they might be a good fit.  He actually had the confidence to call her, and they went out (sadly, didn’t work for her too…maybe he was just a dud).  But the point is, oceans were expanded!

I hope what I have posted here doesn’t sound bitchy or desperate, because that is not how I am at all.  I am not trying to sound better than any other single girl out there, the point in posting this is turning the mirror on myself –  I am actually the worst.  This sense of impending bachelorette-hood was not making me the greatest girl to be around.  I had to do something different otherwise every morning I was staring at myself in the mirror trying not to freak out.  By nature I am a positive person and I didn’t like the toll this was taking, hence the multiple conversations and the conscious change in my approach.

Before I actually forced myself to think about this rationally (back to the jobhunt analogy), I was telling myself that I knew what I could give for what I wanted, but I was not doing that.  I would instantly yay/nay people without really thinking about it, and this is about not doing that anymore.

I hope some of these ideas help you, and hope you all take the time to share your feedback or your opinions.  I would love to know what has worked and conversely what ideas you think you and your girlfriends would completely shoot down too.  Married women – don’t be shy.  It took a long time for me to accept that if I wanted to be successful in finding a man, I would have to do things a little differently and apply the same principles I had applied in areas of my life where I am more successful.  It wasn’t easy coming to this point, but like the doctors say – admitting you have a problem is the first step in solving it!  Hence the Manhunt.  I am finally willing to give it a shot because what I was doing clearly wasn’t working.

Good luck and happy hunting ladies

But here are my post-trip thoughts.  First – it was really shocking that so few people spoke english (i know, I know – my last time bringing it up).  On our last night in Istanbul, there was a group of high school students at the cafe we were at, and they were there with their teacher.  We started talking to them, and none of them spoke more than a few words of english, and the teacher struggled with even basic words. 

Coke and all soft drinks are crazy expensive, $3 – $4 per can.  All in all – Turkey is not a cheap country by American standards.  It was actually pretty comparable.  The one area that Turkey was way out of our price range was American liquor.  $22 for a jack and coke, and $10 – $15 for the well drinks.

Turkish cuisine is all you get.  Chicken sheesh, bread, spreads, blah, blah blah.  And no spice to the food – the Turks are not lovers of the spicy. 

The country is very clean – both pollutant-wise, and litter-wise.  The latter was a bit shocking given that we coulnd’t find a single trash can on the city streets of Istanbul.  We would be holding empty plastic cups for blocks until we could find a cafe to throw them away in, and yet, no trash on the ground.

Big smoking culture.  Not the women as much, but it feels like 75% of the guys between 18 – 80 smoke.  Well, they don’t actually live that long I don’t think, but suffice it to say, when you go out at night, you will come home smelling of smoke, regardless of where you visit.

Very nice, friendly people.  Outside of the language difficulty issues, everyone was happy to help us find our way, provide information, etc.  Definitely one of the highlights of the trip were the people we met along the way.  There was definitely poverty in Turkey, and Istanbul in particular but we didn’t see it in a way that we have seen in other dark-skinned countries.  Not many beggars, not many homeless.

Travelling with friends always makes the experience richer and deeper.  We were able to recap, laugh, had people to enjoy the nightlife with, and there were times where the boys could go off and have boy time while the girls napped, or did each other’s hair, or whatever it is that women do when they find themselves man-less. 

It’s hard to pick one highlight of the trip, but one of the highlights was saving the bird.  It was just one of those cool once-in-a-lifetime moments where we had the chance to do something cool, and we did it.  Another highlight was all the dancing.  I haven’t danced this much collectively in about 15 years.  Good times.

No real lowlights.  A taxi driver tried to ”take us for a ride”, but it wasn’t that big a deal.  i can’t really say that I was disapointed with any part of the trip.  I liked Istanbul, but didn’t love it.  Nicer mosques in India, older sights in Cairo and major Inidan cities.  Nice, but outside of the Blue Mosque which is really spectacular, no real wonders.  I really liked the beaches, but I liked Sharm better.  Overall – Turkey ranks behind most of the other “foreign” places I have been (Egypt, East Africa, India, etc.), but ahead of the European places I have been (only Portgual and the UK).  So, it is either my favorite European country, or my least favorite developing nation.  Nothing really to dislike, it just didn’t have a strong identity. 

We lounged around on the boat, which held about 35 people without feeling crowded.  We alternated between sunbathing on one of the upper decks, and chilling at the table set up inside.  It was nice to just soak up the sun and relax with no agenda.

The only downsides were that the water was pretty cold – very cold actually.  When it got nice and hot, it was great to go barrelling off the deck, hurling into the icy water, but when the sun went away, it got cold too quickly.  That was the time we spent soaking up the sun like lizards.  The 2nd downside was the cruise was a little long.  After a while, it became the same old thing.  We didn’t come back to the dock until about 5:30 pm.  We were talking to one of the “kaptans” and he told us that there were 45 gulets in the harbor that all did these day cruises, and they weren’t enough to cater to the demand.  They all sailed full most days.

When we did come back, we took the rest of the evening to relax and rest up for another big night in Bodrum.  We took a water taxi into the city center at around 10:30 for a late dinner and chose an Italian restaurant that was actually surprisingly good.  From there we took a walk down the beach side until we got a stretch of bars that looked lively.  They were playing the requisite cheezy music, but they all had these annoying guys running around blowing whistles at the crowd trying to get us to come into their club instead of the neighboring one.  These annoyances had names – whistlerooeys.  What did they think we were – sheep? 

Then we heard whistles beckoning us from The Red Lion, and since it was lady’s night which meant half-priced drinks for the honeys, we decided to venture inside.  The music was good, but the scene reminded me a lot of Sharm-el-Sheikh in Egypt.  A lot of local Turkish heros hitting on a lot of European Pupooses.  Pupoose  [prn. Pu-poooose] n.  A hefty single European woman who comes to foreign lands to feast on the local men.  Pupoose was in season at the Red Lion.  We also ran into a group of 3 british asian girls who were partying it up.  One of the girls, the slasian – (as in ‘slutty asian’), ended up leaving her friends when they went up to the bar to get drinks.  We were outside at one of the terrace tables, and we see the slasian get on the back of a hero’s scooter, and they went racing off through an alley.  About 10 minutes later her 2 friends, the clasians (as in ‘c**k blocking asians’) came out and started looking for her.  The clasians start asking some of the local heros where the slasian went, and all the guys knew the hero she left with and watched it happen, and they just stand around shrugging their shoulders like they didn’t know.  It was a little creepy – like a Natalie Holloway redux.  So we asked the clasians if they were looking for the slasian, and they were like – yeah, do you know where she went.  We told them they left with the hero, and they were so confused.  They started looking around then they asked us – well, should we wait for her here?  Do you think she’ll come back?  How the hell should we know – do we look like the slasiany type?  We bounce. 

We decided it was time to move to the next spot.  We had planned on hitting one of Bodrum’s 2 big clubs.  One was Club Catamaran, a floating ship that hosts several hundred people.  You get there by waiting at a particular dock, and a speed boat makes pick ups / drop offs every 10 minutes or so.  It wasn’t all that exciting though because it wasn’t all that busy, most of the 6 rooms were hosting techno-ish parties, and it was $40 cover charges.  The second option was Halikarnassas, said to be the second largest club in the world.  We walked by and the music sucked, and it didn’t look all that busy (we were a few days ahead of peak tourist season), and the $40 cover wasn’t all that exciting.

So we headed back to the Red Lion area.  We get about 2 feet when the whistlerooeys herd us into the next bar like sheep.  Deja Vu, and it really was Deja Vu – just like Red Lion.  Great music again though.  We danced like monkeys.  And look who it is – the clasians.  Still no sign of the slasian though.  Oh, and a couple of Nepalese.  Oh, make that Slepalese…The music was so good that I almost broke my cardinal rule, and Got Jiggy Wit It, but luckily Nads saved me from myself and the clutch of Big Willy, and we retired outside for some refreshments and relaxation.

After we got tired of the club scene, we just started strolling down the boardwalk area again.  Hey – its the slasian.  Being melasians (meddling asians), we stopped her and told her the clasians were looking for her.  She didn’t seem to sussed over it, so we moved on.

Our night wound down around 3:30 am again, with a water taxi transport back to our dock.  Tomorrow is our last full day in Turkistan, and includes our flight back to Istanbul after an afternoon of souvenir shopping in Bodrum. 

The best part, much like this trip, is that I could be an auto-pilot, just enjoying the scenery and the trip.  I wasn’t in charge of anything – Quag did most of the navigating, and I just drove where I was told to drive.  I felt like Balram, the protagonist in The White Tiger (don’t worry, Book Club post to soon follow), except Balram (who was a poor driver for the rich, hated driving without being in charge.  He wanted to be the one choosing where they were going, and why.  Just a reminder that, that which liberates the privileged is often the same thing that enslaves the poor.

About an hour out of Bodrum we stopped at a little seaside hole in the wall restaurant for a quick lunch. We ordered our normal Turkish fare (you should know this by now – chicken kebab, salad, yogurt, bread, coke) and headed to our table. Nads grabs me, and I look down and there is this little bird – maybe less than a week old. It isn’t moving, but appears alive. Closer inspection reveals that there are 5 or 6 nests built into the roofing of the shack, and it looks like this little chucklee fell out of his nest. We debate what to do for a minute or 2, and decide to pick him up and put him back in his nest. So I pick him up and we drag a table over under the nest, then a chair to get on the table. As I start to climb the little pyramid, he sticks his neck out and tries to flap his little wings. He is super tiny – not even fully feathered. I reach up and place him back in his nest and the excited chuckling begins. It was a nice little side story, because we never intended to stop at this shack – we wanted to stop at the one before, but missed the turn. Then just happened to walk to that table, or we would have missed him entirely. There wasn’t anyone else around, and he probably dies that day or the next for sure if we don’t put him back. One of those little “butterfly flaps his wings” moments when a seemingly small decision turns out in someone’s good favor…In this case it only benefited the bird. We got billed at least double for our lunch! Like they say – one good turn deserves a swift kick in the ass as a lesson not to be so naive next time! But it was worth it.

We cruise into Bodrum with the plan of checking in and napping by the pool/beach (what else). First things first – I have to refuel and return the rental car. The car was a Fiat Linea and it was pretty small with a small engine. We used up half the tank, and I figured it would cost $40ish dollars to refuel. Oh no my friends. A half tank of gas in Turkistan cost me 97 Turkish Lira (or about $80). Gas is $3.50 a liter (with 3.8 liters/gallon), making that a whopping $10+ dollars per gallon!!! Now that I think about this – this is really typical of most 3rd world countries…and Europe…and really – every non-Arab country but the US and Canada. We complain about $4/gallon prices, and these guys are paying almost 3X that much. I don’t know how these economies survive with the transportation costs – how can middle class people afford to go anywhere? Do anything? But I digress. We get our nap and our pool and our beach, and slog our way through an average dinner (tough to measure up to the last spot).

Tonight’s festivities include a jaunt to neighboring Gambet. Gambet, as we learned, means “home of cheesy Turkish bars”. Every bar was playing YMCA/Hey Baby Would You Be My Girl songs, and the proprietors/hosts were all well greased young Turks. Young gigolos with younger apprenti in training. At our first stop, the Atlantic Bar, we were looking at the cover of the menu and it showed a young Turk dancing shirtless with a couple of Euro-hussies. He looks familiar…wait a second – he is the dude who served us our drinks? We ask him to confirm – and sure enough, seconds later, shirt is fully unbuttoned and he has two Euro-jailbaities in tow, dancing on pillars to some cruise ship song. And our drinks had sparklers…oh yes my friends – the 4th of July kind – just hanging out of our drinks. Time to bounce.

The No Name Dancing Bar was stop #2 and final. It wasn’t much better, but it wasn’t any worse! The guy kept trying to get us to come in from the terrace because “the club” inside was starting up. The club was a DJ spinning disco, and the cheesy young dude dancing. Riight, we’ll be right in.

Back to the hotel, and in bed by 1. Tomorrow is the all day boat cruise!

Arda started this game, and he has been looking good. A couple of near misses, but he is clearly the key to Turkish resurgence. The match only lasts 90 minutes long (plus injury time), and we are hitting the 89th minute. The room gets antsy because we need to win to advance.

90th minute. The ball is played to midfield and Turkey intercepts. The ball is passed to Arda who streaks down the left side, crossing into the Swiss striking area. He dances around and through 3 defenders, left/left/right, then eeks out a sliver of space between himself and a 4th defender. It is just he and the goal, with an advancing goalie and the 4 advancing defenders to beat. The room is screaming wildly – Arda is not going to pass. The fate of the nation rests on his leg, because win or lose, he is going to take what will likely be Turkey’s last shot of the game. I have seen this replay 50 times and I still don’t get how he does this (I tried to link to it on youtube, but for some reason the site is banned in Turkey?) – he launches a right-footed shot that shoots over the goalie’s head, dropping like a rock and bending just under the crossbar. GOOOOOOOOOOAAAAALLLLLLLLLL!!!!!

The crowd goes nuts, I am running around the room high-5ing anyone and everyone. We streak into the lobby and the reception folks are cheering. Down to the disco, and party like rockstars! The bartender offers to buy my drinks all night if I will give him my Arda jersey, and I almost do it – but then I remember, my drinks are free anyways!! it’s Good to be the King!

The rest of the night, we rock to the Song of Freedom, Put our hands up for Detroit, Dream a Dream to fly away, and generally just dance like fools. For the most part I am not paying too much attention to the commoners around me (Tonight I am Arda!), but I do see this Eurpoean guy wearing a white linen shirt, white linen pants, and white boat shoes just writhing his way around the dance floor hitting on these 3 blondies who can’t seem to shake him. Just another sad case of white on white crime. But I can’t trouble myself with that, I have more foolishness to create and encourage. At one point, I do this dazzling spin move that finishes with a scissor-kick/leap, landing perfectly on one knee with outstretched arms as if I were posing after scoring the winning goal, just waiting to be swept into the arms of my teammates and carried away to the adorations of all the screaming fans…No outstretched arms came. No adulations – just a jaw-dropping pain to my left knee. I finally got the ligament issues sorted out, now I bust my kneecap. Oh yeah – busted. But like another Hero, I rise up and continue to dance! Luckily the disco closes down at 2, so I am forced to fight my way back to sanity and sleep.

But, if even for only 1 night – it was Good to be the King (or at least be wearing his shirt!)

We meet our first Americans in Turkey here.  2 girls from the West coast, and 2 guys from Michigan ’08.  We bounce from the main site of Ephesus up the winding mountain towards Meryemana (The House of the Virgin Mary).  This is the house that she is said to have spent the final years of her life in.  It was about 90 degrees + in the sun, and the road that takes you to the house is about 5 clicks  up a steep curving mountainous road.  On our way up there, we passed a dudhpakh guy, about 40ish, walking his way up the hill.  We figured he was headed to the same place because there is nothing else up there, and we debated pulling over and offering him a ride.  He looked well to do, so I reasoned that if he was walking, it was some sort of religious pilgrimage.  Others had their own theories about what he was doing, with Nads suggesting he was something just short of the boogie man initially.  But when we got to the top, we decided to just drive around the site and head back down the mountain (we were a little “ruin-ed out”), and we decided we would stop and offer him a lift when we saw him again.  To her credit – even Nads was on board with this act of kindness.  When we met him, he had covered a good distance, but we pulled over and asked if he wanted a ride.  I think he was a bit taken aback (I think he literally took a step or 2 back), and he told us he was enjoying the walk, and thank you anyways.  So the rest of the way down, we debated what he must have thought of us (terrorists, boogie men/women, just nice people but he really did want to walk, etc.).  And so the time was passed – all because of this Australian man who decided to do something crazy.

After these 2 sites, we made a pit stop for a hearty lunch and refueling in an attempt to steel us for some more sightseeing.  But the attempts were half-hearted passes at Basilica St. John (a church built by St. John the Baptiste, where he is now buried I think), and a mosque – we were done.  It was sweltering (did I mention that?), and the luxurious pool was screaming our names at this point.  Time for a dip in the icy cold waters, and a refreshing Churchill!

After the minor gastro-fiasco, we headed down to the beautiful beach.  We grabbed a couple of beach chairs and some books and chilled out.  There were some highlights to this early morning relaxation time.  We were (re)introduced to European swimwear choices.  As has been often said – some of the best gifts come wrapped in curses!  The topless women weren’t attractive, and the men were wearing the good old hammocks.  The second highlight was Quag taking the time to explain how sand becomes glass (and as a no-cost-to-me bonus, why my camera is not taking pictures with the vivid colors it did when i first bought it).  Both issues are closely linked to silicone I have learned.  You will need a Red Bull to process the rest.

After lunch we took a couple of 2-person kayaks out into the ocean and decided to race about 1/4 mile to the pier at the hotel down the beach.  It was like another event in the Amazing Race that we pretend to be part of from time to time.  With Nads manning the front, and me calling precise paddle-strokes from behind, we were able to stroke our way to the finish line in a comfortable first place.  Lets just say there were no Giggitys at the end of this race.

Next stop – bar then pool.  In between the beach drinks, I guzzled my customary club soda + lime, but here we had to make some adjustments.  No lime, but they had some lemon and with some prodding I got some ice.  I went back to the same bartender so often that we created a name for the drink – somehow she came up with Churchill.  No idea why – but it worked.  I did some smiles/winks, and I got the best Churchills no money can buy.  Nads came down and gave her the stink eye though, and I think I am going to have to go train a male bartender on how to make Churchills from now on…

Dinner was served buffet style on the terrace, with everything from the standard chicken doner, breads & spreads, to steak and pasta.  Beautiful views of the sunset, followed by a marathon game of Phase 10 that took us until our “early” night of 12:30.  Tomorrow – we are off to Ephesus.

We headed out of the hotel around noon, and stopped for sandwiches at a little cafe.  By now we have seen 6 or 7 blacks, so we have stopped counting (many Tunisians it turns out).  Americans – still a shortage.  I think the count is at 2 or 3.  We were also counting the number of dogs we saw – we got to around 7 and stopped counting dogs too.

After the cafe we decide to treat ourselves to a traditional Turkish bath – Cagaloglu Hamami.  CH is this huge marble ornate Turkish bath that was built in the 1700s, and it is on the list of 1000 Places to See Before You Die.  How do I know this?  Because the always timely P.Lo gave me the book as a very appropo last birthday gift (25 if you must know).  I also know it is on the list because everywhere you walk inside the bath, they have posters screaming it.

The idea of a Turkish bath is that you get buck naked, wrap a washcloth-size towel around you pipru/ghaan, and stroll into this huge marble hall.  You sit in a beautiful traditional sauna for about 15 minutes, then an attendant comes and gets you to give you your bath.  The “bath” starts with a massage with you laying down on your back.  My attendant’s name was Turan (and after his performance, if I had to guess last name’s I am going with McHandserson).  Turan starts with a solid rubdown.  I had to stop his hands a few times when he got too comfortable, and he had this kung fu grip (that he used on my chest and arms!) which wasn’t all that comfortable, but it only lasted about 10 minutes.  I stood up (clutching washcloth) red as a tomato.  He then led me to a stall areas where he took a lufa and smacked me up/flipped me/rubbed me down with soap, shampoo, soap again.  I will spare you the details, but lets just leave it at – this man is thorough.  Again, the Turkish men must have very few personal boundaries because he was trying to go places I don’t let people go without dinner and a movie first.  He even tried to scrub my nosering out until I convinced him it was jewelry, not a stain.  He was perplexed.  I think the weirdest part – really it was all pretty weird – was the fact that he was wearing the same washcloth that I was.  I was ready to bounce at the end.  Incidentallly – the girls had female attendants who were also rather girthy, buck nakedy, and quite comfortable with the flesh of another female.  To pass the time and make things less awkward – Nads struck up a conversation with her attendant and found out she is both young and eligible.  She told her about our friend back in the States – Big Nit – and she seemed very interested in seeing where things go.  She wouldn’t let Nads take her picture, but she did give her a little “souvenir” to convince Big Nit of her eligibility (and Nads can vouch for her strong hands).  If Big Nit is out there and interested – email me, and we will send you the pic of the souvenir.

After the wonderfully soothing bath, we moved on to our last site in Istanbul – Suleymaniye Cami (which is a mosque built by Suleiman the Magnificent in 1557.  Unfortunately a large part of the mosque was undergoing renovation, but it inspired me to coin my own “Fareesh the [blank]” name.  I am still working on options, but if anyone has a suggestion, feel free to leave it as a comment.  We wrapped the day up with another jaunt through the bazaar, another failed attempt to get manpris (and convince Nads it was ok), and then headed to the airport for our flight to Izmir.

From Izmir we picked up our rental car and embarked upon our journey that was driving 70 clicks in a stickshift car in a country whose language we couldn’t speak and road signs/rules we didn’t understand.  Turns out – it wasn’t half bad.  The most awkward part of the trip was at the toll booth right outside the airport exit I was still getting used to the soft clutch (NY’er = NO’driver), and as we pull away from the toll booth (flush with Turkish po-po), I rip one off, leaving about 3 inches of rubber and smoke behind me.  The po-po looked to stunned or lazy to get up and follow – from there we just motored.

The hotel we were checking into is called the Ephesus Princess Club hotel, and it is an all-inclusive resort.  It is absolutely gorgeous, and one of the most picturesque hotels I have ever stayed at.  The only one that comes close is the Sharm Hilton. There is too much to say about this hotel, and I just don’t have the passion to blog it all out (but Nads, who found this gem, does -so I am reserving this section for her to make a guest appearance and give this place its due).

We check in too late for dinner, but there is a midnight snack of cream of mushroom soup and toast, and we are ready to hit the hotel club.  We finally got the nerve to drink the Raki - a local Turkish hooch that turns milky when poured over ice.  It tastes just like Ouzo, and after the first sip me and Quag are breathing fire!  Tonight we are dragons…

After our Rakhi-thon and partying at the club till they close at 2am (my ACL is quite better, thank you for asking), we head down to the beach and chill out.  We get into an interesting “conversation” that lasts almost 70 minutes.  The old adage that you shouldn’t discuss politics or religion is actually true (who would’ve thunk?) especially after running on Raki fuel, and being someone who is predisposed to having strong opinions and finds no discomfort in challenging others on theirs.  That is all I will say for now (think of it as a teaser, because the subject of the conversation is definitely getting its own post when I get back stateside – I just don’t have time or energy to get into it now).  The good thing is that we are all adults and no one took it personally – just another heated conversation, and after a good night’s sleep we all awoke friends, and husbands, and wives.

Ahhhh, sleep.